


like sand, slowly shifting (or ash in the wind)

by forestdivinity (ForestDivinity)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Genderfluid Character, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, M/M, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Parent/Child Incest, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Trauma, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestDivinity/pseuds/forestdivinity
Summary: He was ten, or he was five, or thirty, or perhaps he was eighteen. It was hard to tell. Time never liked to flow right. Some days he woke up in the summer and was sure it had been snowing only hours previously.Jaskier know's he's not exactly the same as other people. His memory doesn't work right and there are nights he wakes up screaming but he can't remember why. It's fine. Life moves on. He won't let himself get caught in his past or in his head, instead he just keeps his eyes on the future, however far away it might seem.And then he meets Geralt, and everything changes.-This story is not intended to glamorise child abuse, and is in fact an exploration on how repeated trauma can affect adult life. Written from the perspective of someone with a dissociative disorder. There is no rape/non-con between Geralt and Jaskier, this story is meant to show them healing together.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Vesemir, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx
Comments: 77
Kudos: 178





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Love Me (Love Me Not)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25063678) by [mix_kid_ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mix_kid_ao3/pseuds/mix_kid_ao3). 



> The main points of this fic were developed between no_notea , nanero11 , mix_kid_ao3, swordgirl , sevent, and myself so thank you all so much for the help. 
> 
> You should all go read [Love Me (Love Me Not)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25063678#main) by [ mix_kid_ao3 ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mix_kid_ao3/pseuds/mix_kid_ao3) which is set in the same universe as this but from Geralt's point of view through his own childhood.
> 
> The poor boys go through so much. 
> 
> Please heed the tags, this isn't a happy fic and I will expand them as I go if more triggers need to be added. If I've missed anything please kindly let me know!

He was ten, or he was five, or thirty, or perhaps he was eighteen. It was hard to tell. Time never liked to flow right. Some days he woke up in the summer and was sure it had been snowing only hours previously. He wondered where the time had gone but found it was hard to worry when his notebook was full, and the skies ahead seemed clear.

Whatever he did in those missing hours, he admittedly spent them well. His notes were filled with lyrics and strange ramblings. Some were detailed accounts of his travels, down to the last morsel eaten, others were simply lists of encounters and exploits. 

He knew people thought him air headed and a bit of a ditz. For sure, throughout his time at Oxenfurt, he had been called such names aplenty - among other things. It had never bothered him. Perhaps his memory was worse than that of his peers, at least he had creativity and a flourishing imagination. An eye for both drama and tragedy, he had many times been told - if only he could get the hang of simple comedy. 

Not all his songs did as well as others. The weeks in which he remembered trying his best were oftentimes the weeks he struggled the hardest. Days that he spent in a haze, or those blacked out completely, were when he did his best work. Well, sometimes, they were at least. Other times, he would find he'd spent a week doing not much other than drinking and fucking, making his way out of various fisstech dens and 'houses of ill repute' when he finally became aware of his surroundings.

Such was the life of an artist after all! He'd always considered himself transient by nature, content to move from one place to the next and then on to another. It wasn't his own fault if he forgot a name here or there. And if people knew him as something different to his own, it was merely the nature of a performer to have many pseudonyms; it wasn't his fault he couldn't keep track of them all.

Life always went on, and time was always strange. Jaskier wore a smile throughout, as one would expect from a travelling bard.

* * *

And then one day, there was Geralt. How long had he been there? Jaskier didn't know. Just that he was a steadying presence and one that drew him in like a moth to a flame. Jaskier spent three weeks in a haze, and Geralt was the presence that grounded him.

"Always pulling you out of a brothel, or some poor cuckold's bed-chamber." Geralt grumbled, and Jaskier trailed along after him. He knew better than to ask which - questions like that always confused people. Surely they understood the way memories were like eels, always slipping out of your grasp? The harder you tried to hold then, the easier they seemed to get away.

"Well! A bard should enjoy life's pleasures Geralt," Jaskier grinned and threw an arm out in a dramatic gesture, "or else all poetry might vanish from the world, and what a terrible world it would be if that happened!" 

His stomach flopped and then flipped from side to side, and Jaskier told the nerves inside of him to quell themselves before he found himself upset.

"Hm. Quieter world at least." Geralt huffed good-naturedly and clucked Roach forwards. It was a fine day, the sun still shining somewhere in the sky, high above the mountains. Jaskier knew not where they were again, but he trusted his companion did. Geralt was the type to keep track of such things, Jaskier thought. 

He looked up towards the blue of the sky, so very vast and empty. When he looked at the ground again, it seemed very far away, and he wondered when the world had begun to spin around and around. Blurry it had gotten as if he was looking through the old glass windows of the-

He frowned. The word spun away and down the drain. Jaskier shook his head as if to clear it and then did it again.

_ "Be quieter, Jules!" _

The strange words echoed in his head. He was sure if he focused he would be able to remember where from but the memory spun around and around and then-

* * *

The inn was charming. Jaskier wondered where they were now. According to his journal, only two days had passed. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't overly long, but Geralt had given him a strange look that morning, and it had persisted all day. He was glad to be at the inn. Good food and people often improved his own mood even if it soured Geralt's.

At least here, his companion could be plied with stew and ale. Geralt, he knew, liked both of these things in a reasonable amount. He took his lute out and strummed it idly.

"You don't have to stop playing if I say I like things quieter." Geralt muttered after a moment. He sounded grumpier than usual, and Jaskier frowned in confusion, stroking his fingers along the smooth wood of the lute. He didn't remember-

Well, that was the problem, wasn't it? Not remembering. He hummed in the back of his throat and waved his hand at Geralt.

"Pish-posh, Geralt! You think I would stop simply because of a shallow comment?" 

Would he? He wondered what he'd done, yesterday, the day before—all those lost days. Time ran away with him often, he never let himself dwell on it, but he'd never had such a steadfast - could he call Geralt a friend? - companion before. 

Geralt, the useful man that he was, grunted. Jaskier let himself squint at Geralt for a few moments before letting out a breezy sigh and stretching languidly. Confidence, he told himself. A bard always presented confidence in order to ensnare a crowd. And he was  _ the bard _ , after all, destined to be famous across the Continent. 

"Well, dear Geralt, after resting my fingers for the last few days I think it is time I graced this delightful inn with my talent! Isn't that a splendid idea, dear boy?" The bard stood and slapped Geralt on the shoulder with a grin before sashaying across the stone floor.

Geralt grunted again. He was very talented at his grunting. The bard gave an idle wave as he set himself upon a stool that he'd stolen from the bar. 

"Dearest ladies and gentlemen won't you tip a coin to your humble bard for he brings you stories of the great White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia!" He called out to the small crowd that sat drinking and eating the evening meal. More would surely begin to spill in as the night got later and the drinks spilled more freely. In fact, he counted on it. 

From the corner of the room, Geralt glared. The bard spared him a wink before bursting into the now well-known song about their first journey together. 

After that, the night became a blur. 

* * *

Jaskier woke up with a headache and two men beside him. This was not an unusual occurrence. He groaned as his hangover made itself well known and wondered just how much he'd decided to drink. Hopefully he'd stuck to wine and ale and not moved onto something more robust.

Vodka always made him want to vomit.

His movement caused one of his companions to stir and throw an arm across Jaskier's hip. They were covered in purpling bruises, the perfect shape of fingerprints. And they ached something fierce. He had definitely been fucked at least once last night. 

"Ugh, where'r you goin', Petal." The man muttered. He was tall, though not particularly broad and balding across the very top of his head from what Jaskier could see. There were scratches across his shoulders and two very prominent lovebites across his neck. Strangely there were smears of lip rogue there too, and Jaskier wondered where it had come from. 

Well, likely Jaskier's own mouth. The real question was how it had gotten on his lips in the first place.

He wondered what the man's name was. He couldn't remember it.

"Need to piss." He muttered and gently shoved the man's arm off his hip—the other man, who was both broader and shorter than the first let out the snore. Balding-and-tall rolled over with a grunt and buried his face into the pillow.

Jaskier gathered up his clothes from where they were spread across the floor and left, shutting the door with a quiet click.

First, a piss, and then he would vomit. He'd definitely been drinking vodka last night, it was the only thing that left him feeling so sickly the morning after. He could only hope Geralt wasn't too mad at him - at least this time there had been neither a whorehouse nor an angry cuckold to fend off. And both the men he'd woken with had seemed rather satisfied, so he was quite certain they wouldn't come after him in anger.

* * *

His lute was in the room that he and Geralt had rented. Seeing it released a knot of tension in his chest and he sighed in relief. His memory, spotty as it was, often led to things being lost no matter how hard he tried to keep track of them. Usually, it was only trinkets that he misplaced. A golden ring with a crest that had vanished his first few nights at Oxenfurst, a silver-tipped quill he'd been given, most memorably was his end of term essay two days before hand-in was due. He was glad that Essi had found it, crammed between the rafters of her dorm room only hours later. Neither of them knew how it had gotten there.

He sighed at the memory and shook his head. It still throbbed something fierce, but he was used to working through headaches - alcohol induced or not.

They seemed to plague him no matter what. 

It was fine. He was used to it. 

"You're back." The voice startled him. Jaskier leapt back a foot before spinning around on his heel and scowling.

"Geralt! You can't do that to a man!" His voice came out rough and a little reedy, like a poorly tuned flute. Jaskier wondered if he'd had his throat used too, the night before. 

"Hm." Geralt said as if it explained everything or anything. It didn't.

"What?" Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest and grimaced when that sent a waft of vodka scented sweat across him. He wished dearly that he had time for a bath, but it was unlikely. 

"Good night?" It took a minute for Geralt to talk again as if he had been thinking through his words. Jaskier spoke a lot, he'd never understood the idea of restraining one's self in conversation. In a poem, or a song? Why, of course, you had to think your phrases through carefully in order to be best understood! But a conversation was a place to be lively!

The quicker one spoke, the easier it was to hide.

"It was pleasant." He replied quickly, turning his nose up. Well, he assumed it was anyway if the ache in his backside and the throbbing bites on his neck were any indications. 

"Sounds like an understatement." Geralt rolled his eyes. His voice sounded strangely rough, Jaskier couldn't figure out why.

"What? What's that supposed to mean, exactly?" He squinted at Geralt, sucking on his lower lip idly. The room felt strangely charged all of a sudden. Perhaps it was just him, being strange as always. Essi had always said he was a strange one.

"Think the whole inn heard you, bard." Jaskier rolled his eyes. What use was a bard if he wasn't heard? 

He wondered if Geralt had enjoyed hearing him.

The thought made him dizzy. It felt strangely disconnected from anything else. Melitele's tits, he needed a bath and a stiff drink, or at least a knock to the head. Hangovers always did such strange things to him.

_ Let Geralt do strange things to- _

"Oh? Well, then they were lucky. I'm quite the catch, you know!" He felt his cheeks flush pink and waved his hand around wildly. 

_ He'd be a catch in bed, I mean look at the size of his hands! You know what they say about men with...  _

Jaskier shook his head harshly enough that Geralt took a step away from him as he tried to chase the words away. He did not need to be having strange sexual thoughts about the one man who seemed to like him without wanting to put a cock in him.

_ Well, that's the problem with men- _

"Oh, shut up." He muttered under his breath, feeling suddenly frustrated and not knowing why.

"I didn't say anything." Geralt replied. Jaskier cursed his stupid, enhanced Witcher senses and looked back towards him with a grin. 

"Oh just- You know, talking to myself. What is a poet without a few strange habits?" Geralt opened his mouth to reply, but Jaskier quickly hushed him. "Don't answer that! It was a rhetorical question!"

Geralt closed his mouth again with a barely audible click. Good. 

He turned on his heel and began to look through his bag for at least a clean chemise. The doublet was a little more decent and would do until they reached the next town. He doubted he'd be wearing much of it on the road, anyway. It was just nice to have something clean against his bare skin.

When he looked back, Geralt was still stood there.

"Well? Get out? I want to change." He held the clean shirt in one hand, put the other on his hip. His mother liked to stand- 

He blinked hard, and the thought ran away. 

"What?" Geralt sounded about as confused as he felt. The mornings after the night before always made him feel strangely not-himself. Disconnected. Like his body wasn't really his. Wrong.

"Won't you give a-" he stuttered over his word, somehow calling himself a man right now felt odd, "-a  _ bard  _ some privacy!" His skin itched all over as if he had fleas. He clenched his hand into a fist around the soft silk of his shirt and scowled.

"You've never been bothered-"

"Well, I'm bothered now, Geralt! Honestly, just, go-!" He interrupted before Geralt could finish and felt one word off stomping his foot. Geralt's jaw tightened, and his eyebrow began to twitch. Jaskier waited for something.

Something usually came after.

Geralt let out a long, slow breath. It felt like there was an ache somewhere above his gut as he watched it. Always feeling too many things like a physical pain. Still, he waited.

"Okay." Geralt said after a moment. He smoothed his hands down over his breeches and nodded. Jaskier nodded back, still feeling dazed by the abrupt turn of events.

Witcher, Witcher. Strange man. 

The door clicked shut behind him, and Jaskier was left, silk shirt clutched in his fist. He blinked and found himself on the bed. The sun felt far too bright, he wondered when it had pressed itself up against the window like a frog trying to escape a glass jar. It was hot, too hot, and the light stung his eyes something fierce.

Was he the frog?

"Fuck." 

_ Fuck indeed. _

He scowled at the voice inside of his head and hope that it might see his displeasure. Or maybe feel it. Why couldn't all these feelings just go away for a moment? It was far too much; he thought his head might explode. 

* * *

He was dressed. She was dressed?

The clothes felt strange. Too loose around the chest, constricting around the legs. They turned from side to side. Dressing like a man wouldn't please  _ him _ . 

What choice did they have? Their hands itched for some rouge or at least powder for their cheeks. 

There was nothing wrong with wanting to look pretty was there? They pulled at the collar of their shirt and sighed again. 

* * *

It was dark. His doublet was unbuttoned entirely, his shirt untied in the front. Jaskier shivered with the cold of the night, even in the summer he struggled to stay warm. Keeping his clothes undone probably didn't help with that, but even when he did try to look presentable, he always ended up half-naked. It was a talent apparently - at least that was what his old classmates had said.

Or they'd just called him a slut. It wasn't entirely untrue. Especially during his time at Oxenfurt, he'd had an uncanny ability to sleep with someone new every night. He very rarely remembered the encounters but he was glad, at least, that people considered him a good fuck. Sleeping around and being a terrible lay would have just been sad.

His skin crawled a little at the thought.

The dark continued on. They had obviously made camp at some point - him and Geralt - but the fire had long since died down to nought but embers. Jaskier stared at the tiny dots of orange and sighed to himself. Usually, he would have at least flicked through his journal, in an attempt to re-orient the day, but there wasn't even moonlight to read by tonight. A thick cloud of fog covered the sky, blotting out the stars and the soft lunar glow.

He didn't remember leaving his bedroll, but he certainly regretted it now. The fog and the dark and the dying fire, it all made him feel cold. It was very quiet. Not unnaturally so; Jaskier could still hear the soft rustling of the wind, the movement of small animals through the underbrush of the trees, but it was tranquil. Placid.

He wondered absently about what had woken him—likely a nightmare. Essi had always mentioned him having them, but he never recalled them when he woke. Such was the nature of dreams, he'd tell her. Essi had only ever squinted at him, but neither of them had enough of a knowledge about dreams to argue over it. For a time, he had taken a sleeping draught, so as not to disturb her in the early hours of the morning. 

Eventually, he had forgotten about that too, but the nightmares faded a little, and so they were both content.

He missed Essi. Sometimes he thought she knew more than she let on, but he'd never quite gathered the courage to ask her. In front of him, even the embers of the fires died away, ash fluttering a little in the wind. He had to squint to see it in the dark, the tiny specks of white that blew this way and that. Jaskier wondered where they might go next.

They had all been part of a whole once. A piece of wood now torn asunder by the flames. It was a tragic metaphor, but Jaskier had always been good at tragedy. He sighed and shook his head. The noise seemed to echo around the quiet clearing, drawn up and out by the wind. 

Jaskier shifted forwards towards the dead fire. The wood had been eaten up, not a single piece left that he could see. Closer to the pit, he could feel the residual heat it still carried. It took a long time for that last bit of warmth to ebb away. Somewhere in the core of it, the fire would try to burn for as long as it could.

He reached out. His fingertips brushed through the ash, and they ached from the heat. It certainly wasn't enough to burn him, but he could feel it now, the warmth, still trying to hide.

"Jask-" behind him, Geralt rolled over and grunted and then sat up, "-what're you doin'?" His voice was rough with sleep still. Jaskier wondered if he had an accent, it seemed like he might on nights like this. During the day, Geralt just sounded common. He claimed to be of Rivia, but he could have been from anywhere on the Continent - except perhaps, Toussaint - and he spoke like a grandfather might. 

Old fashioned. Or just plain old.

Jaskier didn't hold it against him. Geralt was old after all. He wondered if he'd had a grandfather and found he couldn't remember. Surely he must have? 

He found his voice stuck in his throat. Geralt was old, and suddenly Jaskier felt very, very small. He tucked his head back against his shoulders and shrugged, drawing patterns in the ash.

It was warm, but rapidly cooling now it had been disturbed. Jaskier teetered on a precipice, not knowing what was below him. He wondered what it would be like to feel the flames. When did a warmth turn to heat turn to destruction? His head had begun to ache again.

He wondered who he was if he was indeed a person at all.

"Jaskier, come back to sleep." Geralt said softly. He had gotten closer, placed a hand gently on Jaskier's shoulder. It felt nice, the warmth of his palm through the soft silk of Jaskier's shirt. The sibilance of the words rolled around in his head, and so he tested them on his tongue without thinking—the hiss of it a snake in his mouth.

"Okay." He replied after a moment, brushing off his hands as he stood. It wouldn't stand to get ash in his bedroll. 

He was tired when he lay down. The world fuzzed in and out of existence, seeming to flicker like candlelight. Geralt dropped a blanket on top of him, and he curled into it like a child. He felt odd. He was odd. Always had been a strange one, no matter how hard he tried. Acting normal around other children had always been a chore, and he didn't know why. It wasn't like he was really any different.

He curled up tighter. 

_ Goodnight, Julek, _ someone whispered inside of his mind. It sounded warm.

"G'night." He mumbled back because it was the polite thing to do. 

* * *

He thought of feminine hands, adorned in jewels, as he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Half a pound of tuppenny rice,  
>  Half a pound of treacle.  
> That's the way the money goes,  
> Pop! goes the weasel! _
> 
> The words echoed around his head. Jaskier tapped the tune out against his lute before he could stop himself, wondering where he'd heard it before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning** for recreational drug use and mild discussion of child abuse. Starts at _At Oxenfurt, he'd known a young man_ and ends at _That had been the end of it._
> 
>  **Trigger warning** for a dream sequence/flashback where Jaskier remembers some of the abuse he went through as a child. There's nothing explicit at this stage but Jaskier is chased through his house by his father while blindfolded. Starts at _Julian ran down the hallways_ and ends at _"Aha! Caught you!"_

_ Half a pound of tuppenny rice, _

_ Half a pound of treacle. _

_ That's the way the money goes, _

_ Pop! goes the weasel! _

The words echoed around his head. Jaskier tapped the tune out against his lute before he could stop himself, wondering where he'd heard it before. It sounded like a child singing, though he couldn't place their voice. It was strangely familiar though and patently annoying—the same four lines, spinning like a top inside his head.

The corners of his lips twitched in a frustrated smile.

"-need to stop, Jaskier?" He only just caught the words as Geralt spoke, the noise inside his head drowning out all the noise outside. As a bard, he was well used to having a tune stuck in his head, snippets of music and lyrics that he would play with until they fit right.

This was less like that and more like having a child screaming in his ear from the inside out. He rubbed his temple absently as if it might help, but it didn't.

"Jaskier-" Geralt said again, "do you need to stop?"

He blinked rapidly as if to centre himself. The voice in his head only got louder, but it was fine. All he had to do was breathe through it. 

"I... I'm fine. Let's keep going." It was easier when he had to focus on where he was walking, looking towards the next step in front of him. If they stopped now it would be a disaster, something inside of him told him that.

_ Keep going- _

_ -half a pound of tuppeny rice! _

The two voice's conflicted in his head, feeling like a drum beat, a deep throb against the egg-shell bone of his skull. Did everyone experience the world like this? Surely so. He couldn't be the only one trying to navigate his way through life with a cacophony of voices always shouting inside of him. Perhaps Geralt had them too and was why he preferred silence from the outside world. 

Jaskier could understand that. He was just the type to try and drown his voices out.

Geralt frowned at him as he kicked his foot against a stone and then stumbled over it. He opened his mouth as if to say something and then shut it again. Geralt did that a lot. As if his opinion didn't matter, as if showing any sort of emotion might get him killed.

Maybe it would. Jaskier doubted it though. Still, the life of a Witcher wasn't a kind one, and he was sure Geralt had just gotten used to life and all its cruelties. He was old like that, with strange habits that Jaskier knew better than to intentionally trigger. Sometimes things affected the minds of men more than their bodies.

* * *

At Oxenfurt, he'd known a young man who'd once hoped to be a knight. Jaskier had long forgotten his name, but it wasn't unusual for him to forget names and places and once an entire building, so he didn't dwell on it. The man, though, Jaskier remembered him. Young, but not obnoxiously so like most of the students; he had red hair and green eyes and scars across the backs of his knuckles, not unlike the ones that Jaskier had.

"How did you get these?" Jaskier had asked one day, laying in bed next to him. They'd shared a pipe of herbs, and it had made his head feel strange and heightened his senses oddly. For once, despite his giggling and flighty thoughts, he felt totally in control of his own body. 

The man had given him a confused look, brushed his thumb across Jaskier's own hands.

"You should know, Jules-" He'd started, and Jaskier had frowned and butted in to correct him.

"-it's Jaskier-"

"-Jaskier. You have them too." He'd said, his green eyes impossibly soft. Jaskier liked the colour of them, not unlike fresh grass but a little deeper.

"I don't remember. Maybe I was too young." The man - boy? - had sighed as he took another long draw on the pipe. He had gotten up then and repacked it, taking pinches of it from the stone bowl they'd been crushed in. As he filled the pipe, he'd paced across the small bedroom they were sharing. It was at the very top of it's building, the ceilings sloping down to meet the walls.

Both Jaskier and the man were tall enough they had to duck their heads when walking towards the bed. Finally, he had sighed and sat back down next to Jaskier. Jaskier leant into his side, and they sat together, watching the opposite wall. 

When he spoke again, his voice was soft and deep. Jaskier thought he might listen to it forever if given a chance. (He wouldn't be given a chance).

"Mm... my father was a drunk. He'd been a soldier... when he was younger, and he couldn't forget the war, Jul-Jaskier. When he was mad, you know, especially after a few drinks, he would take out his rapier and smack it across my knuckles till they bled. Can't even look at one without a panic now."

He took another long draw on the pipe before handing it to Jaskier. Tears were beginning to well up in his eyes, and Jaskier watched him intently, unable to remember if he'd ever seen another man cry.

"Any type of sword is enough really. Father's are cruel." He'd finished off, and Jaskier sighed over him, leaning to wipe at his eyes.

"Oh, you poor thing. He must have been to do a thing like that." Jaskier plucked the pipe with his spare hand and took another drag, and they'd nodded together. He had watched Jaskier with a strange look before tugging him back into the embrace.

"Yeah... S'why I like the herbs. Make the fear less strong." Pipe held loosely in one hand, Jaskier had found himself nodding in agreement.

"Mm. It's good. I haven't felt so calm in... why I don't remember..."

"Yeah. I guess I got off lightly compared to some people though-" He'd given Jaskier a strange look then as if considering something. Jaskier wondered if he had something on his face and reached up to rub absently at his nose. Perhaps there was dirt there? 

"What's that mean?" He'd asked, a few minutes later, when curiosity finally got the better of him. All he'd gotten in response was a shake of the head and a hand clasping his own.

"Nothing Jaskier." The man had said, his green eyes closing.

That had been the end of it.

* * *

Strange habits, his friend had had. Never let himself be backed into a corner but always sat so he couldn't be approached from behind. Jaskier had seen his nerves act up from time to time. He would become jittery at a raised voice or the slam of a door and retreat up to his bedroom to smoke. Oftentimes the landlord would complain about the smell, though only if it reached the patrons of the shop four stories below them.

Geralt was like that at times. 

Had a touch of the nerves. Not so much around monsters or swords. In fact, Geralt seemed most confident in a fight, and the bloodier it was, the easier he seemed to sink into it. 

It was around people that Geralt got most nervous. Boy and girl alike made him twitchy, but he seemed most uncomfortable around older men. Jaskier couldn't understand why - Geralt was older than most of them combined. 

He didn't overthink it. Geralt was allowed his habits.

* * *

_ That's the way the money goes, _

_ Pop! goes the weasel! _

Jaskier inhaled sharply through his nose as the song popped up again. It had been playing on a loop for hours already, but at least it had gone soft, become background noise. Now it was like someone shouting at him again. 

At least it snapped him out of his wandering thoughts before he walked straight into Geralt's back.

"I thought we weren't stopping yet?" He frowned in confusion as he looked around. It was another green opening that had clearly been cleaned and made for travellers. Always a bonus to find, but they were using the main roads today so perhaps not much of a surprise.

One day it would likely have a tavern standing, a proper place for the weary to rest their heads. Or it would become forgotten about and overgrown again. Only time would tell.

"What? I asked you that hours ago." Geralt had muttered, already beginning to strip Roach of her packs. The horse whinnied and walked around in a circle once Geralt was gone.

Sure enough, the sun was low on the horizon now, though not low enough to call it twilight yet. They had an hour at the longest, but it was summer still (as far as Jaskier was aware) and so even the twilight would draw on for hours.

He laughed loud and abrasive in his throat to hide his own nerves.

"Oh, yes, of course! I was just joking, Geralt!" He rubbed his hands across his face, trying to blink the last of his confusion away. Geralt grunted and simply began to build a fire - he didn't seem to believe Jaskier at all, but at least he wasn't asking questions.

Questions Jaskier never knew how to answer.

"Perhaps I am a little out of it today, but, my dear fellow, I did not sleep the way the gods intended last night, and so I think one could forgive a man for his indiscretions!" 

It was his way to bluster whenever he was uncomfortable. It was better to be annoying and arrogant, he'd found than to display weakness. People liked to go for the throat, so it was best not to show it.

"Okay, Jaskier. Just go and fetch us some water." Geralt sighed. He sounded as tired as Jaskier felt.

"Geralt! I am a master bard, not a bloody milk-maid." He muttered as he stomped over to their bags and picked up the pot they carried for water. He couldn't remember drinking from any of them.

Were those the sorts of details people generally remembered.

"If you were a milk-maid I'd ask you to fetch milk, Jaskier." Geralt's voice was dropping from its standard timber to a growl, and Jaskier rolled his eyes dramatically.

"I'm going,  _ Geralt _ , no need to take that tone." 

* * *

_ POP!  _

"You're back," Jaskier jumped and almost dropped the pot of water he was carrying, it would still need to be boiled clean, "did you get lost?"

"What? No! Of course, I didn't get lost. Why would you say that?" He placed the pot on its hook over the fire. A little water splashed out over the edges and made a hissing sound as it hit the flames that echoed in his ears.

Geralt frowned at him, arms cross over his chest. He was sat on the ground in front of the fire, a sword in his lap.

"It took you an hour to fetch a pot of water." Geralt said bluntly. Jaskier could appreciate that about him, at least he never beat around the bush about things.

It didn't make it any less embarrassing. 

"Well-! Maybe it did Geralt. Don't judge me." He huffed out, brushing down a patch of grass to sit on. Much of it had dried out around the pit that most travellers used for fire. He heard a low, annoyed sound leave his companion and glared a little in frustration.

Melitele, he hoped he didn't remember this in the morning. 

"Wasn't-" Geralt cut himself off with a grunt and threw a parcel of food at him, wrapped up in clean muslin. "Eat."

Inside it were various berries, a few of them burst, strips of cured meat, and a pastry only two days old. Shortcrust always lasted a little longer than other types of pastry. Jaskier knew that it would be filled with meat and various cooked vegetables, not unlike a stew in an edible little parcel. They reminded him a bit of the  _ pierogi  _ he'd eaten as a-

He blinked and frowned. He didn't remember eating  _ pierogi.  _ Well, he'd had them once at a festival in Oxenfurt, being dragged around by Essi and his paramour of the week. The smell of them had made something in his stomach twist painfully.

He took a rough bite out of his pastry to distract himself. It was cold, the meat a little stringy. The potatoes and the swede were both undercooked. Jaskier continued to eat regardless.

_ We can have treacle and pierogi if we're perfectly behaved-! _

He didn't have pierogi or treacle to eat. Instead, he had sweet, summer berries and cold meat and pastry that had gone just a little bit stale. Everything was fine; Jaskier wondered why his stomach ached.

"I'm going to bed." He told Geralt once he'd finished, wiping his fingers on the muslin absently. It had become red with juice stains, the colour of it made him feel more ill than he had before.

"Hm." Geralt snorted which Jaskier took as  _ good-night _ . Thankfully, Geralt had already laid their bedrolls out. The blanket from the night before was sitting on Jaskier's one, dark in colour and smelling faintly of hay and horse. It wasn't bad. He'd always liked horses. They were steady animals when treated right, but then again, wasn't everyone?

* * *

_ Julian ran down the hallways and almost tumbled down the stairs. There was a monster chasing him, it lurked in the darkness of the big house he lived in. When it was being particularly cruel, it made Julian call him Father. _

_ It was nearly always a cruel monster, and it rejoiced in the hunt. Julian was small and quick and quiet, though, he hadn't gotten good at the game by being easy prey. He turned a corner and slid across the long carpet that decorated the hallway. In his ears, his own blood pounded, he could hear the monster coming; he didn't want to be caught.  _

_ The dark shifted and slipped. Julian lurched forwards and clutched at the wall in front of him, dragging his hands across the stone as he tried to find the tapestry and the forgotten hole behind it. He couldn't see. The monster had tied something across his eyes because Julian wasn't allowed to see. It was against the rules of the game. Once, he'd tried to get the blindfold off, but Father had been mad. Very mad. _

_ Julian's left knee still hurt some days from that punishment.  _

_ "Julian! It's time to stop running away now. Daddy is going to be very mad. Perhaps I should hand you off to your Mother instead if you're going to be such a brat." _

_ He choked on the sob in his throat, dragging his nails across the wall. He couldn't find the tapestry. Had he taken a wrong turn? It was so very hard to tell in the dark. _

_ The monster was going to find him. Julian couldn't breathe properly, he could feel blood welling up under his fingernails. The monster would catch him and rip him to shreds, or give him away to his Mother. Her claws hurt too, and she always acted like Julian was deliberately a bad boy.  _

_ He just wanted to be good. He didn't want the monsters to hurt him.  _

_ "Come out now, Julian!" The monster shouted from somewhere in the distance. It was now or never, he had to try and run again if not- _

_ " _ Aha! Caught you!"

* * *

Jaskier woke up screaming.  _ POP! POP! POP!  _ kept echoing in his head. His skin itched like someone had poured ants down his back. He clapped a hand over his mouth to silence himself, stumbling out of bed. It had- he'd had- 

A nightmare. 

He looked around frantically, unable to shake the feeling of something touching him. 

Geralt was next to him in an instant. His golden eyes were bright in the darkness.

"Jask-Jaskier! It's okay, it's okay. What-"

"Just, just a nightmare. Nothing. Just a bad dream. I don't even remember it now."

He felt something wet dripping off his chin and realised he was crying. Oh dear, what would Geralt think of him now? A grown man, sobbing like a child over a bad dream. 

"Are you- Can I do anything?"

"Wa-Water?" He felt parched. His chest was heaving as if he'd been running for days. Had he been? It certainly felt that way, the strange feeling of being trapped in an endless maze. The more he tried to focus on the dream, the more it ran away from him. 

He didn't want to be here anymore. 

_ Okay _ , someone said, and then he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite as long as before but I hope you still enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had he been dreaming? How long for? Jaskier groaned and stretched until he felt his back pop, trying to remember the people who he'd dreamt of but their voices and faces were quickly fading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning** for description of a panic attack. Begins at _Jaskier found he couldn't read any further._ and ends at _"Jaskier?" A deep voice asked._.
> 
> Also I've used the elven calender in this fic, you can find it here: [Elven Wheel of The Year](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/witcher/images/8/8c/Elven_Wheel_of_the_Year_by_SMiki55.png/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/1000?cb=20190206133321)

Had he been dreaming? How long for? Jaskier groaned and stretched until he felt his back pop, trying to remember the people who he'd dreamt of but their voices and faces were quickly fading. What did it matter anyway? It wasn't as if they were real.

_ Rude _ said something inside of him. He frowned and rolled his eyes at the voice - it wasn't as if he was wrong. 

Though, Essi had once told him that it was impossible to dream of a face that you'd never seen; Jaskier wondered if it was true. The thought made his head spin, and he sighed, wondering where he was. It certainly wasn't a forest floor. Wasn't a floor at all, from what he could tell.

_ It's safe _ , a different voice said. Jaskier nodded absently to himself in response. Was it odd, to talk to yourself as such? Surely not? Just because he'd never asked didn't mean it wasn't something other people often did.

He was on a bed, which was stranger. Stranger too was being on a bed and being fully dressed. Well, his doublet was off, but he wore both his chemise and his breeches still. Jaskier couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up in a bed both by himself and dressed. Even if he hadn't been with a partner, he usually ended up sharing with Geralt-

Where was Geralt?

* * *

Finally, he opened his eyes. The ceiling above him was wood, as were the walls. It looked just like a typical tavern, a few candles dotted around and burning steadily, the bed made of straw but not uncomfortable to lie on. He could smell (or perhaps taste?) something herbal in the air. His skin itched something fierce. 

Jaskier sat up. Beneath him, the bed made a crunching sound, and he frowned at it in annoyance. It was night, and he was in a tavern bed, so why was Geralt not with him? Was he on a job? If so, why had he not taken Jaskier with him? He found himself absently chewing on his bottom lip and went rifling through his bags, looking for his journal. Hopefully, it would provide a bit of insight.

If not, he would just have to wait. Jaskier was not a patient man.

The book was comforting in his hands, buttercups decorated the front of it - he'd always had a soft spot for the flowers. It was the eighth, or ninth journal he could remember having. Jaskier always carried one on him, along with a quill or a sharpened piece of lead. It helped him at least keep the days straight when his memory was being especially spotty. Not to mention, as a poet and a songwriter, it was good practise to have somewhere to write.

On the first page of this journal was a wolf, hastily sketched. Jaskier himself was not the best artist (except for the times he was). This drawing was done in charcoal and lead and had become a little smudged over the time he'd had the journal. He was still unreasonably proud of it, and he fought the urge to trace over the careful lines with his finger, instead beginning to flick through the book to find its latest entry.

**_ Savaed: Lammas, 3rd _ ** , read the date atop the latest entry. Jaskier swore audibly under his breath and cursed his useless memory. It had only been mid- _ Feainn _ when he could last remember. He'd missed almost a whole  _ savaed _ and the changing of the seasons. If it was  _ Lammas _ already then Geralt- 

Was he even still around? 

Last year, the first year they'd travelled together, Geralt had left after  _ Velen _ and not returned to his travels until  _ Imbaelk.  _ Sure,  _ Velen _ was still a while off, but Jaskier didn't know enough about Geralt yet to say if that was his usual habit, or if he'd stuck around longer because of Jaskier trailing along after him.

He had to close his eyes at the thought and take a steadying breath. What use was there in panicking? He wasn't in a panic, he couldn't let himself be. It wasn't like this was a new circumstance - waking up in some unknown future, in a place he didn't remember. Being alone. It had happened before, and it would happen again. There was no use getting upset just because Geralt wasn't here.

* * *

Jaskier looked down at the journal again.  **_ Savaed: Lammas, 3rd _ ** , it still read, and then under that:

_ Awoke today under the sky again, cannot wait to finally reach Gors Velen! The Witcher informed me that we should get there sometime tonight, though it did take some needling to wheedle the information out of the cantankerous old beast! While he is both majestic to look at and a great muse, he is often so grouchy that one would think a cat had pissed in his boots!  _

_ Ahoy! What is a bard to do? Even my best songs seem to irritate him lately, and he has not honestly responded to even one of my jokes! Alas, it appears that the old wolf has lost his sense of humour entirely. As of now, he is away hunting for our breakfast before we once again hit the road. While it is gratifying to have this time to write, I will wholeheartedly admit that I cannot wait for the hour when we can have a proper meal and a rest in a real bed! Though, it will not delight near as much as when we reach Oxenfurt again, which should be around Velen itself. The Witcher has already informed me that we will be parting ways at that point and while it will be a heartache to spend the winter alone, at least I will spend both Saovine and Midinváerne in good company!  _

_ Already I have sent dear Essi a letter and do hope she will be able to make it back in time for celebration. And ho, we should be the talk of the crowd, what with her beauty and my bardic talent! Not to mention her own gift with her instrument. I believe we shall live merrily throughout the cold season! _

* * *

Jaskier frowned and rubbed his head as he read. If he focused hard, he could vaguely recall something about sending a letter away, and he was glad of the chance to see Essi again at the very least. Sometimes, when reading his own writing back, he had to grimace at how pretentious he sounded. 

"Melitele's blessing..." He muttered to himself, flicking down towards the bottom of the page. At least he had a vague idea of where he was now, though he still couldn't remember where Geralt had gone. Absently he skimmed through a few more paragraphs, which seemed to amount to very little before the morning entry trailed off with the arrival of food before travelling.

It had evidently still taken them some time to reach  _ Gors Velen _ because there were no subsequent entries until the evening. Not even one for lunch, which implied they had eaten while walking, if not skipped it altogether. 

Geralt was like that sometimes, getting so insistent on being somewhere  _ 'on time' _ , that he forget they didn't actually have to be anywhere, in particular, any time soon. Jaskier was pretty sure that the man had been travelling by himself for so long that he'd forgotten how to take care of himself. Now, Jaskier could admit he wasn't the best at taking care of himself, but at least he tried!

He tried to take care of Geralt too. Sometimes, he wondered if he was doing a good job or making things worse.

Hopefully, he hadn't made things worse in the time he couldn't remember. He dragged his thumb along the page with a sigh at the thought, glad that the morning's ink was long dry.  _ Lammas _ already... 

He'd missed the festivals and the celebrations. Or, maybe he hadn't, it was hard to know what he had and had done when he couldn't remember. There were indeed plenty of new pages in his journal for him to read through, but he found that his motivation was lacking. Sometimes, it was hard to stay upbeat with the knowledge that you were forgetting half your life on a daily basis.

Jaskier flipped the page to the evening entry. Thankfully, he'd gone to the trouble of writing before bed. Oftentimes he forgot completely, and there were certainly weeks where he had no information at all, due to his spotty memory and lack of accounts. 

* * *

**_ Lammas, 3rd _ ** , had been written at the top of the page again, slanting curiously upwards. He had likely been tired, it often affected how he wrote to the point that he'd once been accused of getting other people to write his essays! Beneath the date was a blotch of ink that looked vaguely like a cloud, or if he squinted, a bee. 

_ Arrived at Gors Velen. Still pretty packed from the festivals. Geralt looked annoyed at this - understandable. The tavern we found was quieter than most, out of the way, but nice enough. _

_ Had dinner and realised how much of a pleasure it was to have flavouring to a stew- _

Here, something had been scribbled out and try as he might, Jaskier couldn't decipher the sentence underneath the mess of blackish-blue marks. He shook his head and sighed to himself before continuing to read. Thankfully, this entry was far more to the point. The dramatic flair from the morning had vanished entirely, replaced with a more pointed type of writing. It felt almost tinged with annoyance.

He did get frustrated when both tired and hungry. It was easy enough to understand why he was a little curter as the day had worn on.

_ Almost got into a fight with a lordling boy who would not stop insulting us. Had to keep my cool because he was offering a contract but dear gods I wanted to punch him right on his cherry red mouth. Some people are pompous but otherwise alright to be again. This kid was just a snot-nosed brat looking down on us.  _

_ Geralt made me go upstairs. He said the contract would only take the night. Still, I worry.  _

_ I am not as weak as he expects. I can protect us if needed. He should give me a chance to prove it.  _

_ That kid wouldn't stop staring at us downstairs. I didn't like the look in his eyes, I do hope Geralt made him pay upfront because if I see him again, I don't know what I'd do. I won't let him hurt us. Geralt said there were drowners to take care of, I know that he's able to dispatch of them with ease but I just- _

_ I want to keep everyone safe.  _

_ I don't think I feel like playing tonight. Hopefully, Geralt will be back before morning, and we can be on our way. I think things will be more enjoyable once we reach Oxenfurt, the further we get from Kerack the better it'll be- _

Jaskier found he couldn't read any further. He felt sick to his stomach and wondered if the stew he'd apparently had for dinner had been poisoned. As he stumbled out of bed and towards the chamber pot, he retched violently, the sheer force of it bringing tears to his eyes.

_ Kerack _ . The word floated in his vision like it was a stain. A deep, visceral hatred for the name, the place, grew in his stomach, alongside an age-old fear. He couldn't figure out why it had caused such a reaction, just the thought enough to bring him to his knees.

He had never even been to  _ Kerack _ . Had he? He tried to focus, but his head was swimming. He didn't think he'd be able to point  _ Kerack _ out on a map if it were not already labelled. 

It was ridiculous to have such a reaction, wasn't it?

He felt trapped. He had to get outside before his organs spilt out of his mouth and burst from his skin. The world wobbled as he stumbled down the stairs to the tavern floor. It was late (early?) enough that not even the tavern owner was there anymore, everyone had long since gone to sleep. Even in the empty room, he gasped pathetically, desperately needing fresh air. 

On unsteady legs, he pushed himself out of the front door and gulped desperately as he tried to make himself breathe through the panic. Blinded as he was, by his own disorganised thoughts, he didn't recognise - or even see - the familiar figure until it was too late and he'd walked straight into him.

* * *

"Jaskier?" A deep voice asked. Broad hands grasped at his arms to steady him, and Jaskier blinked rapidly and frowned.

"Geralt? You're ah, you're back?" How long had it been? Was it really so surprising to see him? Jaskier didn't know, he couldn't get his thoughts to go coherent.

Somehow, he felt safer, knowing Geralt was back. Few people would try and confront him with a Witcher around.

Geralt frowned at him. It wasn't unusual, Geralt frowned a lot.

"Yeah. You're awake? Are... hm. Let's go inside." Geralt cut himself off, Jaskier didn't bother asking what he was going to say. The thought of being surrounded by walls and doors and being... being trapped, was enough to make his nerves rise up him again.

"No! I mean, I just, I was going- I wanted some air. Walk with me, Geralt!" His voice was unnaturally shrill, and he wrapped his arm around Geralt's own, uncaring that he was still in just his chemise, and shoeless to the boot.

Or not the boot, as things were.

Jaskier laughed to himself, a little hysterically, and did his best to drag Geralt forwards. To his shock, Geralt followed along without too much protesting; his hunt must have gone well.

"Hm. Not too far." He said after a moment, and Jaskier exhaled shakily and then nodded in agreement. 

"No, no, not too far at all. Just some fresh air, like I said." They walked carefully along the cobbled street outside the inn, the cold stone beneath his bare feet helped ground Jaskier, reminded him he was part of something a lot bigger than his own body.

"Hm. Wouldn't call it fresh in a city." Geralt rolled his eyes, Jaskier noted that they had been trained on him the whole time. He liked when Geralt watched him as if he was special. Someone to be cared for.

The unexpected joke made Jaskier burst into high, breathy laughter. It was probably an overreaction, but his emotions were still unsteady, so he forgave himself for the cackling, leaning heavily on Geralt's arm. Geralt let him, shifting on his heels to support the weight of Jaskier's body and Jaskier slapped absently on his wrist.

"Hah! You do have a sense of humour! I knew you had to be holding out on me, Geralt! It does smell a little like a sewer, doesn't it?" The words all came out in a breathless rush, but Jaskier felt better for it, letting himself smile. The panic he'd been feeling so strongly just minutes ago had receded in the presence of the familiar man by his side. Why get worked up over a place he'd never been when he had Geralt here to joke with and tease?

"A little?" Geralt questioned, and Jaskier snorted at him, sticking his tongue out.

"I know you're not a fan of cities, dear, but we won't be here long."

"Good. People make such a smell."

"And animals don't?"

"Animal's smell natural."

"They still smell." Geralt wrinkled his nose up at the statement and Jaskier couldn't help laughing again, patting him on the back of his hand. "Don't worry, Geralt, we'll leave soon. I do have to get to Oxenfurt, and I know you want to go home for the winter."

Geralt froze, and Jaskier swallowed as he watched the Witcher's walls went back up. Jaskier had just wanted to joke, comfort him with the thought of being away from the city.

Had he said something wrong?

He worried his lip between his teeth as an awkward silence settled around them. It was fine. Everyone put their foot in their mouth once in a while. Jaskier just seemed to have a fantastic talent for doing it right at the worst moment.

"You don't have to worry Geralt, I'll be fine when you get back. I know you'll worry about me all winter-" He nudged Geralt with his elbow, trying to bring back the atmosphere he'd unintentionally ruined. 

"Only worry you'll find yourself banned from all the brothels in Oxenfurt, bard." Geralt muttered, his voice was rougher than usual, but he hadn't shoved Jaskier off yet, so he counted it as a win. Around them, the sun was just beginning to make its presence known. It wasn't rising yet, but Jaskier could see how the sky was slowly fading to purple.

"Geralt! Who do you think I am? I would never get banned, they'd lose out on the best lay in the continent." 

"Keep telling yourself that." Geralt looked down at him and snorted, causing Jaskier to let out an exasperated sigh. Lightly, he smacked Geralt again, and Geralt nudged him back.

It was okay. Everything was okay. Geralt didn't hate him.

"I shall!" Jaskier exclaimed, pulling away to put his hands on his hips, tilting his head up in an exaggerated manner. 

"Peacock." Jaskier huffed and stuck his tongue out. Geralt merely raised an eyebrow at his dramatics.

"You're a cock." 

"Got a problem?"

"Never."

"Hm."

"Let's go back inside. It might be light enough to order you a bath now, you filthy man." Geralt merely grunted at him, and Jaskier smiled fondly as they turned back towards the tavern they'd been staying in. 

Behind them, the sun began to rise, pouring watery light across the stone streets. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this one! We have some journal entries from a few different alters and some soft moments between Geralt and Jaskier. I think they might like each other,,,
> 
> How interested would people be in seeing a system map for Jaskier? Comment if you'd like to see one!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier had travelled with Geralt, on and off, for five years now. Every winter Geralt would go home to Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier would return to Oxenfurt, and in the spring (sometimes the summer) they would meet up again to roam the Continent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there are any major trigger warnings for this chapter, but it is rather melancholy.

Jaskier had travelled with Geralt, on and off, for five years now. Every winter Geralt would go home to Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier would return to Oxenfurt, and in the spring (sometimes the summer) they would meet up again to roam the Continent. 

It was a good deal for both of them. Geralt got someone around to improve his sordid reputation and stitch his wounds and encourage him to wash his hair, and Jaskier got a consistent source of stories and someone willing to protect him.

He rarely knew what he was being protected from, only that the world was wide and full of men and monsters he'd much rather avoid. As  _ Imbaelk  _ crawled towards  _ Birke _ , Jaskier found himself trailing Geralt south through Temeria. It had been a good few months since he'd had a sustained blackout - losing a few hours in the day, here and there, was nothing unusual - and so Jaskier was taking time to enjoy the journey.

It was a lovely journey, filled with monster guts and sleeping under a tarp in the blasted rain. Spring had brought some delightful weather this year, and Jaskier was rather tired of having to wring out his boots both morning and night. 

He certainly wasn't feeling salty at all.

* * *

One such evening, once Geralt had finally managed to get a fire going, Jaskier looked over at him and hummed. 

"I would quite like to stop in Lyria for a week, just before Birke. There's a bardic competition that both my dearest Essi and Valdo-bloody-Marx will be playing in and I must show up and beat them both." He mimed filing his nails as he spoke, shifting a little closer to the warmth of the flames. Oh, bless the gods for Geralt's magic. It was evenings like these that he was extra glad to be travelling with a Witcher who could summon flames from his fingers.

"Hm. Thought Essi was your friend." Geralt grunted, leaning forwards to turn the spit above the fire. They were roasting rabbit tonight, the scent of it filled the clearing. Jaskier's stomach growled in hunger as he thought of dinner. 

"Of course she is, Geralt, but she is also my rival, and therefore I must show her who is superior." Absently, he tapped his fingers along his thighs, wondering how surprised Essi would be if he turned up. Surprised and annoyed most likely - it wasn't Jaskier's fault that the public loved him and his songs. 

"I thought Marx was your rival?" Geralt asked after a moment. Jaskier shrugged and rolled his eyes, flicking his fingers into the air. The rain tapped insistently against the top of their tarp. He wondered if they should buy a proper tent - it would undoubtedly make the nights a little warmer. 

"I can have two rivals, Geralt. And Marx is an... enemy." 

_ Sexy enemy though and he does that thing with his tongue- _

"Last time you saw him I found you making out behind a tent." A cherry blush rose to his cheeks. Jaskier vaguely remembered that incident remembered how hot and eager they'd both been for it. Marx could be an arse at times, and he had a crude sense of humour but-

Well, he'd never been a lousy fuck, or a bad person when the push came to shove. 

"... frenemy then! It's- we're bards, Geralt. You wouldn't understand." He shook his hand in the air, and Geralt snorted at him. After a moment, he took Jaskier's waving hand and pulled it back down. Jaskier felt himself go a darker red.

"Not unusual." Geralt said after a moment. Jaskier rolled his eyes again.

"Hmph. But, we can stop, right? There must be work for you in Lyria." There was always work for a Witcher if one looked hard enough. Always work for a bard too. It's why they worked so well together, one slew the beast the other immortalised it through song and enchanted the villagers, and then they both got paid. 

"Probably." Geralt muttered, he didn't sound truly irate. Jaskier expected he was merely trying to be annoying; Geralt did that sometimes. He was a little like a cat, who would bother you simply to rile you up and in order to get attention.

Jaskier wanted to tell him that he didn't need to do that. He always wanted to give Geralt attention, after all. 

He didn't bring it up.

"So, that's a yes." Is what he said instead, crossing his legs as he smiled at Geralt.

"It's a maybe." 

"As I said, Geralt dear, it's a yes. Now, when will that lovely rabbit be done? I'm starving here."

Geralt huffed and leant forwards to poke the rabbit with his knife. It was a nice one, cast of iron and sharp as any weapon. Jaskier had bought it for him three seasons ago, not long before they'd parted for the winter after Geralt had lost his last one to a swamp. It wasn't the type of knife he'd buy for himself, far too plain and heavy to a boot, but he'd thought it suit Geralt.

It was nice to see Geralt appreciating the gift. 

* * *

A few years ago - he didn't remember exactly - he'd given Geralt a ring. Just a thing to remember him by over the winter months. A Yule gift. It had been made of silver with glass dyed blue for a gemstone. At that point, he hadn't been able to afford anything else, but he'd been proud of the gift he'd chosen nonetheless. 

He couldn't recall what had happened after that, only that things had gone... wrong.

When he'd met up with Geralt that spring there had been no ring and awkwardness between them. Jaskier had seen a still healing bruise on his cheek but hadn't asked what from.

He hadn't bought Geralt another gift until the knife. That, at least, could be brushed off as merely practical. Something Geralt needed. And Jaskier had been the reason that Geralt had lost his knife in the first place, so he'd just been replacing something for a friend.

Thinking of the ring made his stomach ache. He shook his head a little and watched Geralt prod at the rabbit.

"Should be done." He said after a moment, and he pulled it off the spit. Jaskier picked up the plate they often shared and passed it over so that Geralt could begin to carve the meat. He rifled through the bags to find a few hard rolls of bread and mourned the lack of gravy to dip it in.

"That's good."

"Cheer up bard, we'll go to your festival."

"I know, Geralt. I'm just... I'm not sad. Just thinking. I'll be fine once I get some food in me." Jaskier murmured and picked at his roll until the hard crust flaked off. 

"Hm." Geralt said. The rabbit was half-carved when Geralt handed him the plate of meat. Jaskier knew that the Witcher would just pick straight from the bone and also knew there wasn't nearly enough there to satisfy him, but he wouldn't argue with Geralt about this.

"Thank you." He wondered if Geralt had ever worried about his weight. He wondered a lot of things about Geralt and knew it was unlikely he would ever get any answers. Jaskier found himself picking through his food as he listened to both the rain and the fire, he watched Geralt throughout. 

_ He's so handsome- _

_ No. Don't ruin this.  _

_ I wasn't- _

He rubbed his temples, feeling a familiar ache start up behind his eyes. All he had to do was finish eating and rest, food and sleep, and he would either feel better in the morning or not feel at all. Or at least, not remember it.

Feelings. They had been very bothersome lately.

* * *

**_ Imbaelk, 30th _ **

_ Dearest Journal, _

_ Today we are on the road towards Lyria, we are expected to arrive within the week, just in time for the festivities to start. I am hoping to replace both my hose and the soles of my boots, as both are beginning to wear thin. Hopefully, the money we make throughout the week should be enough for this, even if we don't win the competition.  _

_ I am much looking forwards to seeing Essi again, Valdo not so much, though I expect some people will be eager to see him. For all his abrasive personality, he does have a talent at drawing people towards him. His looks likely aid him in this. _

_ Finally too, the weather has begun to turn warm. Both winter and early spring were horrendous this year, bringing no snow but a downpour of rain that caused many floods throughout the region, so I am glad it will be (hopefully) pleasant for the performances. Personally, I am most looking forward to the excellent food that will surely be served. It'll be a change from eating roasted rabbit and mouse under a dripping tarp.  _

_ I am sure that the crowds will be adoring and the attention fierce. I can only wish that it is the right type of attention... _

_ All in all, not much of interest has happened today, which is how I like it. I am sure that Geralt will be returning soon - I deigned to stay with Roach this evening - so I will wrap my thoughts up now. I hope it'll be a good night.  _

_ J. _

* * *

The festival itself was held in a field not far outside the City of Lyria itself. There were many tents set up, most of them wildly painted in order to advertise a multitude of wares. The sheer amount of colours almost made his eyes ache, and Jaskier briefly felt bad for dragging Geralt around. If his head was hurting, it was surely worse for his sensitive Witcher, the poor dear. 

The number of people was almost stifling too. Almost instinctively, he grabbed Geralt's hand with his own, so they didn't lose each other. It felt large and warm in his own - even Geralt had forgone gloves today. Jaskier could feel callouses from his sword, the roughness of various scars littered across his palm.

He felt himself flush, but Geralt didn't pull away. Jaskier smiled and dragged him forwards. Excitement bubbled in his belly, and he found he couldn't remember a time when he felt so strangely free.

"Let's go this way!" He had to shout to be heard over the din of the crowds. People pushed them this way and that, Geralt grunted as one elbowed him in the back and shifted to stand closer to Jaskier.

"Stay close." His voice was a low huff. Jaskier found himself giggling at it, and he nodded wildly. The world was so bright and colourful, it made him want to run back and forth, trying to see everything. 

"I will! C'mon, c'mon, I wanna- I wanna go to the stalls. I want-"

"Okay. Lead the way." Geralt sighed, and Jaskier squealed in excitement, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest.

"This way!" He yelled again; Geralt frowned and followed, clutching Jaskier's hand tighter as they squeezed through the crowd. 

"This is the opposite way-"

"Mm, I changed my mind! I dunno, we can go anywhere, right?"

"... yes?"

"Uh-huh! So let's go this way instead. I wanna buy a cake!"

"Okay."

The food tents all crowded around each other, filled with a multitude of stalls. Jaskier makes a beeline for the bakery stalls, filled with bread and pastries and most importantly,  _ cake _ .

There are so many of them. Jaskier's eyes go comically wide as he looks at all the different varieties. Carrot and caramel and even a few types of chocolate and coffee. He can't stop himself from licking his lips as he stares, trying to decide which one to pick.

Cake isn't exactly cheap. Jaskier wants to try them all.

* * *

Jaskier blinks, and it's dark. His stomach aches something fierce. He's sat on a makeshift bench, head between his knees, someone awkwardly rubbing his back.

"I feel awful." He whined.

"I told you not to eat all those sweets. You would have spent every penny you had on them-"

"Ugh, don't remind me of sweets, Geralt." Jaskier huffed out and then burped ungraciously, the sound echoing around the clearing. He made a face at his own disgusting behaviour, reminding himself that he was a bard, not a common ruffian. 

"You're lucky I was there, bard. You almost spent your entry fee and the money for  _ our _ tent." Geralt scolds him like he's a child and Jaskier certainly feels like one right now if what Geralt is saying is true. What sort of decent man spends all his money on cake and desserts? 

"Ugh, why didn't you stop me earlier. I might vomit."

"You'll be fine. You weren't drinking the wine at least." Jaskier groaned, but he had to admit, he was thankful to hear it. Alcohol, mixed in with his current sugar poisoning, wouldn't have been fun to deal with. 

"Bastard." He muttered at Geralt before trying to sit up. 

"Prick." The aforementioned bastard replied, stepping around to offer Jaskier a hand up. When their fingers met, Jaskier felt his heart pick up in his chest, and his cheeks flushed red. He said nothing, even when Geralt gave him a hint of a smile. 

"Let's go find your friends." Geralt said; the moment broke like glass hitting the floor. Jaskier swallowed awkwardly and then nodded, snatching his hand back to wipe his palms on his breeches. 

"Ah. Yes. Good idea, Geralt." Jaskier managed to choke out. The words felt oddly fake in his throat, he felt himself nodding and looking around, but the world was wobbling on the horizon. He definitely wasn't crying.

"Let's uh- Well, if I know Essi and Valdo they'll be in the eastern tent getting drunk with the rest of the Oxenfurt graduates. Come along, Geralt, I'm sure they'll love you!" He said in his brightest voice and turned on his heel towards the tent. It was across a broad span of grass, brightly lit by candles and oil lamps. 

He still felt sick. 

It was just the cakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the sad ending, I promise it's gonna be a bit happier in the next one and we get to me Essi and Valdo (who I am very excited to write!) plus probably a few alters. We met a few this time too! 
> 
> I know this is a bit of a shorter chapter but I hope you like it nonetheless!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he had predicted, the eastern tent was bustling with life, and in the far corner of it, huddled over a bottle of wine, sat Essi and Valdo. Valdo had an arm around her, his mouth painted a cherry red, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. In the middle of the tent a newer bard, one Jaskier didn't recognise, was singing an old sea shanty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I don't think there's any trigger warnings for this chapter! Some nudity and mentions of scars.

As he had predicted, the eastern tent was bustling with life, and in the far corner of it, huddled over a bottle of wine, sat Essi and Valdo. Valdo had an arm around her, his mouth painted a cherry red, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. In the middle of the tent a newer bard, one Jaskier didn't recognise, was singing an old sea shanty. 

Shouting it might have been a better word. Still, everyone was lively enough to shout right along back-

" _ Oh, blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down! _

**_ To me, way-aye, blow the man down. _ **

_ Oh, Blow the man down, bullies, blow him right down! _

**_ Give me some time to blow the man down! _ ** "

It was a common enough shanty, one that most bards left in the first few weeks of Oxenfurt, but it was common for a reason, and popular too. Jaskier smiled at the tune and tugged Geralt - who scowled like he was being tortured - further into the tent.

"Essi Daven, as I live and breathe!" He called out over the noise of the music and the drunken singing. 

"Jaskier!" She all but screamed back and launched out of Valdo's arms towards him.

"Jaskier-!" said man shouted in frustration, but there was a smile on Valdo's face despite the wine that had spilt across his rather expensive looking doublet, "I thought I'd seen your ugly mug around."

"If my mug is ugly, Marx, yours must be a pox-ridden curse upon society!"

"Why, you-!" He shook his nearly empty glass of wine in Jaskier's direction before the both of them dissolved into giggles. Geralt stared in blatant confusion at the three of them before sighing. While he had met Valdo once before, when they'd run into each other in a tavern in Northern Cidaris, he'd never met Essi. Or seen them all together. Jaskier knew it was a bit much to behold.

" _ But as we were going she said unto me, _

_ There's a spanking full-rigger just ready for sea. _ " 

The song continued, and Jaskier let Essi, and then Valdo, spin him in time with the tune. His nausea from earlier seemed to fade away when confronted with their good spirits.

"Jaskier, you rascal, we've been wondering where you were all day!" Valdo yelled into his ear, and Jaskier shoved him away with a groan, leaning back into Essi's arm.

"Oh, don't yell at him Val, he's been with the Witcher-" She snorted and wiggled her eyebrows at Jaskier. He stuck his tongue out at her too and let out an annoyed whine.

Melitele's tits, his friends, were assholes. 

"That's no excuse for abandoning his dearest friends! Though, one could easily understand-" Jaskier leant forward and slapped him across the chest; Valdo jumped back and his pretty features contorted into a scowl. 

"Marx!" Jaskier yelled, "is it too much to ask you don't act like a whore for once in your cock filled life!" 

"Oh, I see how it is, dear-"

"Don't you start! Honestly."

* * *

Still half hanging onto, half holding Jaskier up, Essi laughed loudly and dragged them towards the corner they'd been sitting in. There were bottles of wine scattered around, a few of them unopened, as well as a pipe filled with a familiar, sweet herb. 

"Boys, boys, don't fight." Essi flopped back into a pile of cushions, waving the pipe around. 

"Essi Daven, I thought you knew better than to call me a boy-" Valdo lurched a little unsteady on his feet before collapsing down onto the floor next to her. He made a few, ungraceful motions as he tried to grab the pipe before giving up with a low groan. 

"Alright, you big girl-! And you, Witcher, you come along too!" She gestured with her free hand at Geralt and Jaskier had to hide a giggle as he stepped awkwardly into the corner of the room. He looked much like he'd just sat on a pinecone or drunk straight vinegar. 

"It's uh. Geralt." He muttered. Essi laughed wildly until tears were streaming down her face and she shoved her legs into Valdo's lap, wrinkling the soft silk of his skirt - dress? It was hard to tell. The colour, a dusty pink, certainly suited him though, and Jaskier admired the little purple flowers embroidered around its hem.

"I know. Honestly, this one doesn't shut about you, I do remember your name." She took a long drink straight from the bottle of wine, making Valdo wrinkle his nose up at her.

Jaskier nudged Geralt with his elbow, and Geralt glanced at him and grimaced. It was easy to see that he felt wildly out of place, and Jaskier gave him a sympathetic smile, encouraging him to sit down. Quietly enough, so that only a Witcher might hear him, he spoke:

"Sorry, I know they're a bit much."

"It's like having three of you around. And three times louder." Geralt muttered in return, and Jaskier had to laugh, scooping up one of the bottles with a roll of his eyes.

"Well, we are all bards, Geralt!" His voice came out louder than he expected, and higher too. Absently, he unbuttoned the first two - no three - buttons of his doublet and offered Geralt the wine. Though, not before taking a long drink of it himself.

Geralt considered his situation, behind them the bard had changed songs-

" _ Wrap me up in me oil-skin and jumper _

_ No more on the docks I'll be seen _

_ Just tell me old shipmates, I'm taking a trip mates _

_ And I'll see you someday in Fiddler's Green, _ " 

\- he sang, wildly out of tune, his voice bouncing around the tent. Geralt sighed beside him and took an almost desperate swig from the bottle from where he sat next to Jaskier.

"Is everyone around me an animal?" Valdo yelled, before pouring himself a rather large glass.

* * *

"If we're animals, Val, then you must be a beast! Though I do like that skirt you're wearing. It's such a shame that I can't carry something like that around in a pack."

"Oh, Petal-" Valdo says and grins, licking across the cherry red of his own mouth, "I'm sure I can spare something for you to wear during the week at least. I found this delightful blue dress-"

"Yes! It would look fantastic! Ooh, you should let me paint your nails too! We could have a proper dress up session-" Essi leant forwards and grabbed at his - her? - hand, inspecting the shape and colour of her nails. Jaskier's head spun wildly, she wondered if it was the alcohol and the diet of only cake-

Melitele, had she really only eaten cake all day? How was she supposed to keep her figure like that? Petal snatched the wine bottle back and took a long drink from it to try and distract herself. As she did so, she dragged her eyes over the Witcher's enticing form and licked across her teeth. It was a shame he was off-limits..

Well. At least Marx was around, he was always a good fuck and considerate of her needs, which made him better in bed than ninety-nine per cent of men.

"Oh Essi, darling, I would love to get dressed up with you~ We could put on a show! Didn't we look just fantastic last time, I swear they practically  _ ate us up _ ." Petal dragged her words out from the back of her throat and winked at Val, who blew a kiss back. Next to her, the Witcher shivered; Petal couldn't keep the smirk off her face at the reaction.

Such a shame.

"Val, honey, wait here with Geralt, won't you? I'm sure I can find the dress you're talking about. And no seducing!"

"Petal, sweetheart, why would I-"

"I know you, Val."

"But I have you to entertain me. Fine, don't look at me like that, I won't try and sleep with your precious Witcher while you're off getting made up. I can't promise not to get him drunk, though."

"Oh, Val, darling, you can definitely try!"

* * *

Essi's tent, shared with Valdo, was extravagant and entirely supplied by the festival itself. Petal probably had a similar one to share with the Witcher. She looked at the various rugs and furs covering the floor and sighed - probably not. No one ever wanted to splurge on nice things when travelling. She didn't even have a proper goddamn skirt.

At least Essi and Valdo were happy to share. She sat herself down on a large (if hastily constructed) chair and kicked off both her boots. They were worn through at the sole and covered in an awful amount of stains.

"Don't suppose you have a spare pair of shoes around, Essi, darling?" She asked, grimacing at the sorry state of her own feet. 

"They wouldn't fit you even if I did, Petal," Essi called back, her head inside a trunk of clothing, her skirt falling up over her torso. Beneath it, she wore a pair of deep, royal blue breeches, the back of them decorated with daisies.

Petal sighed. Clothes were one thing to share, it was easy to add a bit of room by letting out the gathers, or skipping a few buttons. Valdo was much her own size in both the chest and hip. Annoyingly, he was also a good three inches taller than her, which made him look a little like a willow tree. Tall and thin and boney.

She wondered if the Witcher would notice. It was rare for someone to be taller than Geralt.

"Oh, I know dear, I'm just missing Oxenfurt and the comforts of a house surrounded by tailors and cobblers." She sighed again and picked at a dry patch of skin by her thumb. Essi squealed as she tumbled out of the trunk, but in her hands, she clasped an airy blue dress, along with a multitude of skirts, and a creamy chemise. 

Little yellow flowers had been sewn into the fabric of the dress as decoration. Petal felt her eyes go wide, and she grinned at the sight of it. It was perfect.

Valdo had good taste.

She was almost certain that he'd bought it specifically to see her wear it. He was both sentimental and prone to spending money on those he liked - especially if he might get something out of it in the future.

Petal licked her lips. She was sure she could figure out a way to repay him.

"I'm sure you are. C'mon, up, you need to strip if you want to change-" Essi threw the chemise against her, it landed against her head and fluttered into her lap. Petal laughed and placed it carefully to the side before making quick work of the buttons on her doublet.

"You're lucky I'm not one to get embarrassed." She quipped, rolling her eyes at her first, and oldest friends.

"I've seen you embarrassed plenty of times. Like that time with the history prof-" 

"Well, it comes and goes, you know." Petal did not throw her dirty shirt at Essi's face. It definitely did not hit her square and cause her to startle like a deer caught in torchlight. To her credit, Essi didn't miss a beat, throwing the shirt straight back at her. 

"It sure does. And you need to eat more-" 

"Scandalous suggestion! I'm not one of those courtly ladies, lazing around, able to eat to their heart's content." Petal let out an exaggerated gasp and shoved down her breeches and her underwear too. Essi had seen her nude plenty of times and didn't comment on her impropriety or the cock hanging between her legs.

Didn't comment on the scars across her form either. She'd always appreciated Essi for that.

"You would be-"

"I would never. Do you know how dull lords get after the first three fucks? At least while travelling, I have a variety of people to sample." She winked at Essi as she picked up the chemise, all but cradling it in her hands. She could smell a floral perfume on it, and the mix of spices Val always travelled with. 

It was comforting and slightly arousing. Dammned be the infuriating man that had first captured her heart; it wasn't fair. She didn't do relationships, and neither did Val. She liked him and occasionally hated him, and she liked the Witcher too. More than she cared to honestly admit. It was strange, sometimes she had feelings that didn't feel like her own. 

"Petal-" Essi started, but Petal shook her head in response and gave her an airy smile. 

"Just smells good. I swear, on the road, everything smells of straw and horse." She slipped the soft fabric over her head and sighed at how it slid over her skin. The knot of tension in her back eased a little, and Petal smiled despite herself. 

"Come over here and help me, won't you darling?"

"Of course, Petal, all you have to do is ask! Oh, this is going to look lovely on you. Really capture your eyes."

"I do have stunning eyes." She said with a laugh, letting Essi tie her into the mess of skirts and fabric. Finally, the dress was situated upon her, the skirt trailing just a little across the floor. Petal smoothed her hands down over the silky material, and she smiled brightly at how it felt beneath her hands.

"Oh, Essi, it's beautiful, isn't it?" Her voice came out soft and a little breathless. Petal swayed on her heels and watched the skirt move in time with her, delighting in how it felt almost as light as air. 

"You could make anything look beautiful," Essi said with a laugh and Petal preened under the praise, tilting her nose up. 

"Well, that's true! Come, let me raid your cosmetics, dear. I don't know what happened to my last pot of rouge." There was a hand mirror on the table that Petal grabbed, inspecting her face in it with a soft hum. A little rouge on her lips and her cheeks, some kohl around her eyes - nothing too dramatic. 

Val would like it, she knew that for a fact. Petal wondered what the Witcher would think. Every time he'd seen her dressed up in the past, he'd either looked confused or constipated or an amusing mixture of both.

"Alright, alright. I still want to paint your nails-"

"Oh, we can do that tomorrow, darling, we don't want to leave Geralt alone with Val for too long."

"You're probably right! Melitele only knows what he'll be doing to the poor Witcher."

"Trying to get him drunk or high, I'd suppose." They burst into giggles as they looked at each other, and Petal had to move her brush away, lest she ruined her lips. It reminded her of their days at Oxenfurt - a pair of troublemakers people had called them. Their reputation had only gotten worse after Val had joined their group, moved into their flat at the top of Harley Street. 

They were good memories. Better than anything that came before then. Better than  _ him _ . 

She fought off a shudder of fear and shook her head once she was done.

"Hold the mirror up, won't you love?" Petal asked Essi, and she grinned when she looked at herself in the glass, blowing an absent kiss. 

"Ready?" Essi asked her. Petal shifted and linked their arms together with a laugh, leaning to kiss her cheek.

"I was born ready, darling."

It was entirely true. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This festival was only meant to be one chapter but there's so much I want to include so I hope you're enjoying it. Poor Geralt has been abandoned but fear not, because we're gonna get some of his POV next chapter.
> 
> I love Essi and Valdo, what do you guys think of them? Let me know!
> 
> Songs included are traditional sea shanties, the first one is [Blow The Man Down](https://youtu.be/RZJz1eQ5DtY) and the second one is [Fiddler's Green](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6bMCrLkCUds)!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt stared down at his bottle of wine. It was an easy target. Simple. A bottle of wine wasn't going to judge him, or try to talk to him or stare back at him strangely. 
> 
> He missed Jaskier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major trigger warnings for this chapter, though we do get a few threats and a discussion of gender. Not where I expected this chapter to go! Time for some Geralt, let's see how he's feeling.

Geralt stared down at his bottle of wine. It was an easy target. Simple. A bottle of wine wasn't going to judge him, or try to talk to him or stare back at him strangely. 

He missed Jaskier. 

No. He didn't miss Jaskier, he just didn't like being on his own, surrounded by dramatic university graduates. Didn't like the eyes on him. Watching him.

He wasn't anything special.

He took another long drink from the bottle, swallowed once, twice, then three times. Marx made an appreciative noise.

"Impressive! You know, I would usually be horrified, watching someone drink a vintage straight from the bottle like that but... Hm. I can see why Petal likes you." Geralt put the bottle back down on the ground, he was glad that he wasn't blushing. That, at least, took some effort. Still, he felt wildly uncomfortable, snakes twisting inside his stomach.

He didn't look at Marx when he spoke.

"His name is Jaskier."

" _ Her _ name is Petal. Just like I'm Val sometimes. Most of the time lately. Gender, dear Witcher, is a funny thing." Marx huffed at him and leant forwards to prod him in the chest. Was it commonplace, for a man to be so fearless, or was it just Jaskier's friends?

He grunted at the man - woman? - and rubbed the spot on his chest. It didn't hurt, but it felt strange. 

"Petal?"

"I don't know. I didn't choose her name! It's just what she said to call her. Melitele's tits, how long have you known her and you don't-"

Geralt looked down at the floor and curled his hands into fists. It wasn't that he hadn't noticed Jaskier's inclination towards twisting gender norms. Which is to say, he had seen Jaskier in a skirt once or twice, and in makeup more times than he could count. He - she? - had always had this air of confidence when dressed up, completely comfortable being the centre of attention.

Jaskier, or Petal, had always ended up leaving in the arms of at least one man.

He had noticed. Of course, he had.

It just wasn't his place to comment on it. He couldn't imagine having those eyes on him, the thought of it made his skin stand up and crawl across his body. 

Had Jaskier wanted him to ask? Had he missed a cue? Jaskier was-

Jaskier was his friend, surely Geralt should have known this much. He found himself clenching hard on his jaw. His teeth felt like they might crack under the pressure.

Marx sighed loudly.

"Oh, relax, Witcher. If Petal had wanted you to know, I assure you, you would have known."

"Hm." Geralt said. Most people stopped trying to talk to him after the first grunt; they understood that he was a man of few words - or at least got too intimidated by the fact he was a Witcher to keep attempting conversation. Jaskier had been the exception to that rule, at least among humans. Geralt hadn't thought there were many men out there like him.

Apparently, he'd been wrong.

Marx was laughing at him.

"Don't scowl at me, Witcher. Listen, I have known Jaskier, Petal, whatever they wish to be called, for many years now. You must know this. And therefore it is Essi, and I, who get subjected to rants about your incessant grunting every winter. I am allowed to laugh when I finally get to experience such brashness for myself."

Geralt groaned in the back of his throat. Did Marx need to talk so much, or was it merely his luck to be stuck with another Jaskier? Perhaps it was a matter of profession.

Marx clucked his tongue against his teeth, he seemed to be contemplating something, swirling his wine around in its glass. Who carried glass around, anyway? It would only get broken. Impractical. Just like Jaskier.

"Hmph." He grunted again. He didn't know what to say. He'd never been particularly good with words.

That wasn't the whole truth. Geralt didn't like to think about the whole truth.

Marx was staring at him. It made him uncomfortable. It was fine, he was just a man, a mortal, and a bard to top it all off. There wasn't anything Marx could do to him, not wearing a skirt with his nails painted. Not even if he was tall - much taller than the average man - with arms that were surprisingly wiry with muscle.

"You're a strange man, Witcher." He said after a moment, brown eyes staring into Geralt, rimmed with a thick line of kohl. Marx swiped a tongue over his teeth, his canines were uncommonly but not inhumanly sharp. Some men were just born with teeth like that.

Geralt was reminded of a predator. He refused to allow himself to be seen as prey.

"Could say the same about you." There was a growl in his voice when he spoke. He wanted to be intimidating - weren't men supposed to run at the sight of a Witcher? Marx just laughed loudly and put his wine glass down to clap his hands together.

Geralt wondered what instrument he played. He had long fingers, his nails finely buffed.

"Ah! So you do have some bite. And you would be wrong because I'm not a man." He leant forwards to wave his finger in Geralt's face, and Geralt fantasised briefly about biting it off. It took momentous concentration and the clenching of his jaw for him to ignore the thought.

He wasn't an animal.

Something about people like Marx ( _ like Jaskier, _ his mind supplied) just got under his skin.

"Whatever. Still strange." Maybe it was the blasé disregard for social norms that frustrated him. Men should wear breeches and fear monsters and stay far away from Witchers. Jaskier did none of those things, and Geralt didn't want to lose him. It brought out the feral instincts that bubbled constantly below his skin, tamed by a life of the Path and the teachings of Kaer Morhen and-

Geralt refused to think of him. Not while he was still out and free. 

"All performers are, Witcher," Marx was saying opposite him. There was an indifferent tone to his voice, "at least, the good ones are. You know, I would have graduated top of the class if it wasn't for dear Jaskier-"

"Good to know." Where was this conversation going? Did all bards talk simply to hear their own voices? They must have gone into the profession for some reason, and very few of them seemed to be any good at music. The man currently playing sounded like three injured cats, yowling in the rain.

* * *

_ "Leave her, Johnny, leave her! _

_ Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her, _

_ Oh, the voyage is done, and the winds don't blow, _

_ And it's time for us to leave her!" _

* * *

He shouted Geralt wondered if he thought it made him sound better. It simply grated on the ears of his audience. Even a few of the drunkard ex-students lounging around were beginning to look frustrated with him. At least he wasn't singing a song about abortion.

Marx was waving his finger again. The motion as graduating quickly from a minor annoyance to genuinely aggravating. Geralt could see why Jaskier complained about him so much - he still didn't really understand why they fucked.

"Don't interrupt me! I'm not done. I met Petal during our first year, you know. I met Jaskier a few weeks later. They were skittish, unused to people."

Geralt raised an eyebrow. None of that seemed like the man he'd come to know, except in the moments where it did. When Jaskier woke from a nightmare screaming, when Jaskier refused to sit anywhere without a wall against his back, when Jaskier flinched at a hand raised too fast. He didn't want to think about those moments, except he did.

He didn't know what it meant. Jaskier always brushed him off if he tried to find out.

"As I was saying, he was timid and though he did his very best to hide it, considerably afraid. I know many people don't understand our relationship, and I quite like it that way. But know this, Witcher, if you hurt them, I will hunt you down, skin your ballsack, and use it to asphyxiate you, you understand, Witcher?"

_ Oh _ , Geralt thought,  _ this is why they fuck. _

Marx was just as feral and protective over the people he considered his family as Jaskier had turned out to be. Geralt was begrudgingly impressed, it took a certain calibre of man - of person, he reminded himself because Marx had said he wasn't a man - to genuinely threaten a Witcher. 

"Hm." Geralt said. It didn't satisfy Marx. 

He leant forwards, uncrossing his legs to rest his hands on his knees as he faced Geralt. On his pile of cushions, he loomed impressively. A lesser man might have shit his pants entirely. Luckily, Geralt was a Witcher, and far less prone to fits of fear.

"I said, do you understand, Witcher?"

"I got it, Marx." He growled out, gritting his jaw in annoyance. It was definitely annoyance, he certainly wasn't impressed by Marx's unexpected backbone. Really, he shouldn't have been surprised; Jaskier didn't seem like the type to hang around real cowards.

Marx hummed, and in a flash, the predator was gone. No, not gone, just hidden for now. Looking rather content, he lay back into his pile of cushions, feeling around for the pipe he'd long discarded.

"I can see why he likes you, Witcher." A sweet herbal scent filled the air, Geralt wrinkled his nose as Marx lit the pipe but said nothing. It was just another form of mind-numbing, who was he to judge. He'd never been a fan of pipes, but every man had his own vices.

He thought of Lambert's home-brewed vodka, and something inside of him ached.

Silence stretched out between them. Marx took a long draw on the pipe, he looked like a lazy house cat, sprawled out across the piles of cushions, his eyes lidded. Silence was the wrong word, there was noise aplenty in the tent, but Marx made no move to talk to him any further.

"It's Geralt." He said for the second time that evening. Marx merely hummed, looking up from under his eyelashes. 

"Is it?" 

Geralt didn't know how to answer that.

* * *

"If you're not a man..." He started when he became bored with listening to the racket that the performer was making. Marx blinked nonchalantly at him and then raised an eyebrow slowly. 

"Yes, do go on?" 

"I just meant-"

"What am I?" Marx seemed to be taking joy in his awkwardness, and Geralt found himself wishing that he'd never asked in the first place. He'd just been confused. And he didn't want to upset Jaskier - Petal? - when she came back.

He'd just wanted to understand. Now he felt like the odd one out, the  _ special  _ one. The word made him want to shudder.

"Hm." He muttered, finding that his words had gotten stuck somewhere between his stomach and his throat.

"Well, Geralt, dear, that is what we in the business call a loaded question."

"...sorry?"

"Don't be! I'm afraid it doesn't have a simple answer, though. Tonight I would say I am more of a woman than anything else, but certainly not a lady. And I wouldn't object to being called sir... It's a bit of everything, thrown into the pot."

Geralt frowned in confusion, not understanding what Marx meant.

"You look like someone took a shit in your dinner, dear. You don't need to understand it. If you're a man, and you've always been a man, I'm sure it's hard to get your head around."

"Hm."

"You can think of me as a man if it makes things easier. Just don't call me one to my face - not tonight anyway. And you would do well not to call Petal one either, she is a lady, and you will treat her with such. Else I will smack you over the head with my instrument. And not the one you're thinking of."

"And what do you play, exactly?"

"A variety of things, Geralt, but mainly the viol. It's a wonderful instrument."

Geralt knew what a viol was. It was large and relatively heavy, and he had to fight off the urge to wince at the thought of being hit by one. He didn't doubt that Marx had the strength to lift it.

"Got it."

"Good. You do learn fast, don't you?"

"Hm." He hoped Jaskier-

No, it was Petal. She was Petal. Geralt's head hurt. He hoped she returned soon. Marx was confusing, and he had eyes that somehow made even Geralt want to squirm. Maybe it was his confidence. Even Jaskier had moments - plenty of moments - of nerves. 

Geralt hadn't seen Marx uneasy once yet. He was either supremely self-assured, or he had one of the best masks that Geralt had ever seen. It was impossible to tell which and it made Geralt's fingers twitch for his swords.

* * *

The sound of high giggles startled him. Marx seemed far more at ease, but he had been smoking on the pipe for a good half of an hour now. 

"Finally," he said, sitting up to pour himself another drink. Geralt wondered if he had a problem or if it was merely a wild night. Behind him, he could hear a familiar voice. Somehow it didn't sound familiar at all. He couldn't force himself to turn around even as Marx smiled.

"Petal! You look stunning. I knew that this was a good choice-" There was pride in his voice, but also an undercurrent of something headier—lust, most likely.

Geralt ground his teeth together. He'd known that Marx and Jaskier were lovers. Jaskier and Petal were one and the same right - they had to be - so the same would surely apply. Not to mention, he had no place getting angry over it anyway. 

"Oh, so you admit you bought it just for me, Val?" Petal's voice was higher than Jaskier usually talked. Geralt wondered if it hurt her throat, but the pitch seemed to be offset by the breathy way she spoke, the lilting tease of it. 

Still musical.

"Never, that would spoil you." Marx flirted back quickly, and she laughed, a cascade of fluttering giggles. Geralt frowned to himself. He should leave the metaphor to those trained in such arts. 

It didn't sound like Jaskier behind him. The voice was undoubtedly the same, everything else felt different. He wondered how he'd missed this and felt a stab through his chest at the thought of having hurt Jaskier. Hurt Petal.

He hadn't known any better.

"Val, sweetie, you already spoil me, but don't worry, I'll be sure to make it up to you." Petal's voice dropped a little lower, but it did nothing to make her sound like Jaskier. Her voice was throaty and already thick with desire. 

Jaskier was a flirt for sure, but this felt different. Geralt could smell Petal, he arousal in the air. It was almost like spice. He realised he'd only rarely scented it before, on nights when Jaskier had come down with red on his lips and shadows across the lids of his eyes.

_ Not Jaskier _ , he told himself. Petal. Her name was Petal.

He cursed himself for being so stupid. He hadn't known.

"Petal, darling, I know you will." 

She stepped around him, Geralt looked steadfastly at the ground, her boots were still the same. And then with another laugh, she collapsed into Valdo's lap, licking her lips as she glanced between them.

"Did you two behave while we were gone?" She asked, fluttering her eyelashes in Geralt's direction. Her eyes, the bright blue of them, were lined with kohl. They matched the summer-sky colour of her dress, made brighter still by the paleness of her skin.

Geralt felt sick. He shoved himself up into standing position so fast that he almost fell over his own feet. Everyone around turned to look at him, and he grit his teeth and willed himself not to blush.

Luckily, he wasn't human and could actually do that.

Petal, and Essi, and even bloody Marx were looking at him with concern. He ignored it, skin shifting and crawling with all the eyes on him.

"Going to bed." Geralt muttered, he didn't wait to hear their replies. 

He wasn't running away, he told himself. He just needed some space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed Geralt's POV, he's difficult for me to write but I think we did okay!
> 
> The song this chapter was [ Leave Her Johnny ]() ! Check it out if you have the time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petal watched Geralt leave and wondered if she should be following him. Jaskier would be following. They were the same person, right? She stayed in Valdo's lap; he had an arm around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. The atmosphere felt tense, something heavy weighing down the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning** for an explicit sex scene, containing oral and light d/s dynamics. Starts at _Clothes came off under scrambling hands_ and continues until the end of the chapter. 
> 
> Mild self hatred throughout the paragraph and using sex in order to cope with feelings of upset and low self worth.

Petal watched Geralt leave and wondered if she should be following him. Jaskier would be following. They were the same person, right? She stayed in Valdo's lap; he had an arm around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. The atmosphere felt tense, something heavy weighing down the room.

She'd never been good in uncomfortable situations.

"Well-" She started, and made a grabbing motion at the pipe. When in doubt, get drunk. Or high, in this case.

"Don't worry about it, darling-" Val told her, squeezing her gently through the layers of fabric. 

"Who said I was worried?" She rolled her eyes and took a long drag of the pipe. Someone across the room was heckling the poor drunken man in the centre of the room to play again. He looked about ready to storm off out of the tent, just like Geralt.

He swore violently as he stumbled off the stage and then stumbled out of the tent to vomit, likely all over his own shoes. It was bad practise for a bard to get too drunk to be able to continue his performance, especially if said performance had been awful in the first place.

Petal shared a grimace with Essi. 

"Mm. Not gonna go chasing after him then?" Essi asked after a moment when Petal handed her the pipe. It was a delicate, glass thing, blown through with streaks of colour. Very pretty. Petal mourned the loss of her own pipe, which had vanished at some point - the gods only knew when - and contemplated stealing it for herself.

"When have I ever chased after a man, Essi? They always come running to me, and that's the way I like it." She flicked her hand in the air and raised an eyebrow, barely blinking when she felt a familiar hand crawling under her skirt.

Familiar was good. She liked new games as much as any good girl would, but Val was always lovely to come back to. His voice was low when he spoke in his ear and tinged with amusement.

"You've chased me, darling," he said, and she spread her legs a little further and rolled her eyes.

"And you're not a man, are you?"

"Well, you have caught me by the tongue there, haven't you?" His hand gripped her thigh and squeezed lightly, Petal felt a delightful grin spread across her features and tipped her head back so she could see him. As always, his eyes were dark, the brown of them almost so deep it was black.

She tutted in the back of her throat and tapped her tongue against her teeth.

Melitele, he was handsome, though. A prick, at times. Even she could admit she'd had thoughts of breaking his elegant nose before, but not wholly an awful person.

And he had a particular talent with his mouth, and she didn't mean for singing.

"You'd quite like to be caught by the tongue, Val. Petal purred, her voice gone low and growling in the back of her throat. 

"Like to have you caught, tongue or not, darling." He shot back, always quick with his words - especially when it came to flirting. A shiver went through her.

"Oh, don't I know it, Val?"

"Melitele's right tit, you two are incorrigible. Petal, I want at least one dance before you go and rub cocks with this one?" Essi shoved the pipe in Valdo's direction and took a long drink from her wine before she stood with only a little bit of a wobble. 

With one hand she grabbed Petal up, with the other she pointed in the direction of a random group of people.

"Oi-" She yelled, "one of you play something! And make it good for dancing!"

Essi, for being all of five foot one, and about as broad as a rapier, was an intimidating woman, and she lectured half the year at Oxenfurt. This meant many of the recent graduates had a reasonable fear of her, and almost instinctual compulsion to do what she said. 

As such, three different men, and one woman, jumped up quickly and then fought over who got to take the stage. Eventually, it was the woman and a man with a fiddle who began to perform.

* * *

" _Step we gaily, on we go_

_Heel for heel and toe for toe_

_Arm in arm and row on row_

_All for Mairi's wedding._ "

They sang well together, her accent thick and hailing from Skellige, though she had evidently trained much of the coarseness out of it. He sounded posher, possibly raised a noble somewhere in the north. It was possible he'd merely affected the accent as well. Essi, despite being a solid foot shorter, tugged Petal close and then they spun together into the middle of the room.

It wasn't quite a true jig, the pace a little slow, but it did well none the less.

Around them, a few people began to clap while others too got up to dance. Thankfully the new pair was much better at staying in tune, both in voice and instrument. They spun round in circles, not following any real form or the steps to a formal dance. Drunk and high as they were, it was much more fun to simply move in time with the music, their hands clasped tight together.

They were both accomplished dancers, even without formal choreography, it was easy for them to step together. Elegant, graceful. Everything a woman should be. 

"I missed you!" Essi was breathless when she spoke, the two of them pulling in and out, circling each other like she'd seen animals do.

"I barely left!" Petal laughed in response and couldn't remember a time when she had felt more alive. She always felt most alive with excellent music around her, drink in her belly, and the waiting promise of a good, hard fuck.

They'd seen each other over the winter period, spent a very memorable Yule together, playing card games and making drunken bets. Essi had bought her ribbons for her hair and dainty lace gloves, Petal had left them in a trunk, squirrelled away in a bank vault that she rarely entered. 

They were too delicate for a girl like her. Made for a maiden, not for a common slut.

" _Over hillways up and down_

_Myrtle green and bracken brown_

_Past the shielings through the town_

_All for sake of Mairi!_ "

The song continued, the pace getting faster as they spun around the room. Petal had never wanted to be wed, but like any girl, she imagined herself as Mairi, followed by an adoring procession as she made her way to a husband.

Or a wife. She wasn't picky.

It would never happen, Petal knew she wasn't suited to the monogamous life. Being tied down, in the figurative sense, would kill her. In the literal sense, she found ropes and cuffs both fun to play with. Daddy had always-

Her breath stuttered, and she tightened her hand around Essi's. Not the place, not the time. Essi flung her hand out, and she spun out and around, her feet seeming to lift from the floor. She was safe. She was free. She desperately needed someone to hold her down and take her and remind her of her place.

Petal stumbled across the room. 

" _Red her cheeks as rowans are_

_Bright her eyes as any star_

_Fairest of them all by far_

_Is our darling Mairi_!"

She felt awkward in her own skin and could feel Essi watching her back. It was okay, Essi was a worrier and a fusspot at the end of it. All she needed was to remember what she was. Who she was. And she had the perfect plan to do it.

With one hand, she waved off the dance and made her way back over to where Val was still sitting. He was usually too lazy to dance, especially after he'd had a bottle or two. That was fine, he was never too lazy for sex.

Petal picked up one of the half-empty bottles and finished it in one swallow. Valdo leered at her, the way her throat moved, how long she could hold her breath. Petal winked and licked across her mouth when she was done, leaning forwards to speak into his ear. Her lips were still damp, her words hot,

"Want to get out of here?" She asked, letting desire drip off her tongue like honey.

Valdo let out a soft groan, and in one, swift motion, they were stood next to each other, his hand clutching possessively at her hip.

"Of course." He replied.

And then they were off.

* * *

Clothes came off under scrambling hands. Petal groaned as she was thrown back onto the mess of blankets and cushion that made up Valdo's bed and she arched beneath him. Hands tangled in the soft curls of his hair and she dragged him down into a hungry kiss, their mouth's moving slick and wet against each other.

It was hot. Or maybe her body was just burning up from the inside. She couldn't remember how they'd gotten to bed, and she didn't care about it anyway.

Something far more important was at foot.

Val fiddled with the straps of her dress and then groaned in frustration, shoving it up over her hips, so it bunched around the waist.

"Fuck, Val-" She started, the sound morphing into a low sigh as he ran his hands up her thighs and squeezed them.

"So pretty." He told her, Petal rocked up into the air, against the soft cotton of her chemise where it brushed tantalisingly over the head of her cock. The friction was a delicious tease. Val's mouth came down on hers again, and this time there were teeth, the wet thrusting of his tongue into her.

She found herself grinding up against his leg, smearing precum over them both. It didn't matter, Petal couldn't bring herself to care about ruining the fabric, not when Valdo's hands were on her. One was pushing her leg up, holding it against her chest between them, the other tangled in her hair and pulled it hard enough she saw sparks.

"Fuck!" She gasped out again, the pain sent frissons of pleasure down her back. Something inside her ached, burnt hot in her core. 

"Good girl-" Valdo told her, Petal found herself moaning, pressing close to him. He held her face just out of reach, but she tried to chase his mouth anyway, wanted to kiss him again. Wanted something in her mouth, be it his tongue or fingers or his cock. His hand smoothed down her cheek from her hair, and he hooked his thumb behind her teeth. Almost instantly, she began to suck.

"So red, darling. So eager. Do you want my cock, pretty thing? In your mouth, fucking you open like a whore?" 

She did her best to nod her agreement, tried to speak, but he pressed down on her tongue, slid his thumb in further. Every inch of her was a live nerve, a familiar desperate need. Valdo shifted, pushed a finger into her mouth beside his thumb and spread them wide. Petal let out a wet noise in response.

Her cock throbbed, precum drooled from the tip. 

"You're going to suck me, Petal. Get me nice and wet. I have the oil you favour waiting, but I won't satisfy you until you satisfy me. Understand?" All she could do was groan. Her body arched a little against him, tears coming to her eyes. She knew what Val liked, the power of control, of being in charge.

And she knew her place. Petal was good at pleasing others, and she had plenty of experience satisfying Val. 

He dragged his finger and the length of his thumb from her mouth and wiped the sticky fluid left on them across her cheek. Petal groaned, sticking her tongue out, mouth left open. It made her look like a whore, or a bitch in heat. Good. She was one.

* * *

He was on top of her, straddling her chest. Petal groaned and wrapped her lips around the head of his cock. Unlike most, Val was circumcised, she enjoyed the way it felt on her tongue, the smooth glide of his cock. It was long, if not unusually thick. Certainly better endowed than most of the people she'd slept with. 

Above her, he twisted his hips. One hand was in her hair again - the wet one - the other was buried into the pile of cushions by her head.

"That's it, darling-" He was saying, she rolled her tongue across the very tip and tasted the salt-musk of precum. Petal found herself moaning, the very flavour of it enough to have her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Val tugged on her hair, tilted her head back a little, and then he moved, pushing deeper into her mouth, "-so fucking good."

Arms pinned to her side by his legs, all she could do was whine. Her cock ached something fierce, she hoped he might touch it later and feared it at the same time. It was sensitive, sometimes too much.

Val evidently had no intention of touching it yet. He pushed in deeper, and Petal gagged just a little as the head of his cock brushed against the back of his throat. He didn't hold himself there for long, rocking back on his knees. Drool leaked out of her mouth and trickled down her chin. There was only a moment of respite, and then Val pushed deep again, and again, and again-

Her eyes watered, her jaw ache. Val never fucked too deep for too long, but the sensations built on top of each other, layering like bricks. Petal could feel her stomach twitching, her hips jerking every time he thrust deeper. It was a slow, steady use, Valdo had never been impatient with her; after all, he was the type of person who knew exactly how he wanted something. Changing his mind, once he was set on something, was nigh on impossible.

Petal didn't mind; she felt like a notched arrow, just waiting to be loosed. Every inch of her was so alive it almost tingled, the head of her cock practically pulsed in time with every thrust. 

"Good girl, so good, mm, take it so well," Val was saying above her, but she could barely hear it over the blood rushing through her eyes. Was he close? Would he cum down her throat or hold off in order to fuck her properly? She found she was gasping for breath, making little hitching sounds. Valdo had moved his hand from her hair and was instead cradling her jaw, using her like she was little more than a toy.

Petal swallowed hungrily around him, tried to suck him deeper into her throat. Hungry for him, for more. Just a little bit more. 

"Greedy." Val groaned and then, in a swift movement, he pulled out. Looking up at him through bleary eyes, she whined. His hair was sticking to the sweat on his forehead, his face flushed red with exertion. With one hand, Valdo gripped his cock, it was shiny with spit, dripping visibly from the head of it. 

* * *

_Red her cheeks as rowans are, bright her eyes as any star_ , echoed through her head. She blinked rapidly and coughed as they stared at each other. She wanted to be like Mairi, beautiful and loved and adored. She could get one of the three.

Two, if she was putting her mouth to good use.

"Stunning." Val's voice was rough, he rubbed the wet head of his cock across her cheek. Petal felt dizzy with need, the beat of it that trembled through her body. 

"Val-" She gasped out, the scent of him made her head spin. He brushed her hair from her face in a tender caress that sent shivers down the length of her spine.

"Hush, dear, I'll take care of you." He told her. He'd yet to break that promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Petal's POV! I know this was a short chapter that ends on a cliff hanger but it would have been way too long if I hadn't cut it! I hope you like this nonetheless, Petal is one of my favourite character's to write. She's got some major self esteem issues under her confident mask. 
> 
> Song used is [Mairi's Wedding](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1MsajMVCY0), specifically the version by The High Kings in my head! 
> 
> Let me know what whether you enjoyed it, and I hope you're all excited for the next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Please be sure to kudos and comment if you like this fic! It's your comments that keep me writing <3
> 
> find me on tumblr [ @ashayathyla](https://ashayathyla.tumblr.com/) or on twitter [ @loudly_spence](https://twitter.com/loudly_spence) if you wanna talk more about any of my fics or just have a chat! I always have my inbox open!


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